There is a fork in a path where I walk
in the bushland scene near my home,
and each way in the fork leads on to a
different place and so you can choose.

I often stop at the fork and sit beneath
a grand old gum that stands tall above all
the other trees, saluting an open bluish sky,
and wonder about life as birds sing praises.

This tree, ancient, rough and knotted with
many rings that go back to the time before
the Europeans came and took this place whole,
becomes my bridge and gentle resting place.

There, in the soft grass beneath the tree,
I feel the calm of eons and wonder who
else had come this way from lost times
and sat beneath its whispering presence.

Then, when I leave, it is as if there is a gift
given to take away, as I return to this jagged
human day away from the bushland scene,
far from the tree that I will surely see again.

 

4/2/2025